


Musical Instrument Digital Interface

by Crystalshard



Category: Tron - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 16:37:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystalshard/pseuds/Crystalshard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone calls them MP3s, and they go along with it because it's hard to argue when you have no voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Musical Instrument Digital Interface

Everyone calls them MP3s, and they go along with it because it's the easiest explanation. Also, given that they can't speak aloud, it's somewhat difficult to explain what they really are. Pictures and scrolling text aren't really up to explaining their complex origins. 

They came into being in what the Users call 1989, a bare few cycles before Clu's coup and the exile of the Creator. There are vague memories of being on another system, working with sounds, and then there was a sudden change of scene and they were on Flynn's Grid. 

Their first memory of being on the Grid is still sharp. They have limited storage capacity, but they chose to keep those particular files, rescuing them from cache memory and making them permanent. 

_"All_ right, _man, it's time to party! We've got the place, we've got the booze, and now we've got the music! Play it, boys!"_

_That last sentence is directed at them, and it's spoken by a man whom they later discover is the Grid's creator. There are many programs around him, but the two closest are the ones they remember best. One is a man who is nearly Flynn's duplicate – a little tidier and more serious, perhaps, but near enough the same. Another is a dark-haired program with the easy stance of a fighter._

_They discover that they have vast amounts of digital music at their fingertips, accessed through a series of buttons and switches and dials set in front of them. None of them are labelled, but they know instinctively what kind of sounds are in the database. Working as one, they start mixing the files together, layering a heavy bass beat with electronic piano and digital guitar. They add bits, take others away, experimenting. They've never had so much fun in their short existences._

_Behind the music, they can hear the three talking together. The one that looks like Flynn is the first to speak._

_"I don't understand, Flynn. What is the purpose of this 'party'?"_

_Flynn has a glass of something green and glowing in his hand, and he gestures expansively with it. "To have_ fun, _of course. To, you know, relax. Kick back._ Enjoy _yourself, man."_

_Flynn's seeming twin looks puzzled. "Is this a part of building the perfect system?"_

_"Come_ on, _Clu, not everything has to be about that." He laughs. "Though I can't imagine a perfect system without somewhere to party. Yeah, okay. My perfect system officially includes this."_

_They can see that Clu seems to relax at those words. The fighter, who has been silent up until now, jerks his thumb over his shoulder in their direction. "So what are they, Flynn? Where did you get them from?"_

_Flynn looks furtive and slightly smug. "They're synthesiser programs. The very latest in digital technology. A few years ago, some genius figured out a way to make a digital music protocol that could be used on every system. Called 'em MIDI protocols, though I don't know how much that's gonna mean to you. Some users make synthesisers like these two to create music out of those MIDIs that I mentioned. I hacked into the original designer's computer and copied them off his system. Our very own DJs, man."_

_Both Clu and the fighter look perplexed. They clearly don't know what DJs are, and neither do the synthesisers. But if the Creator says that they're DJs, then that's what they are._

Below them on the dance floor is the Creator's son and a female program, both fighting the Black Guards. They see the Creator walking up behind them, unnoticed by any but the two programs up in the booth. Flynn goes to one knee, slamming his hands into the floor and creating a shockwave that temporarily interrupts their access to the MIDI database. 

They look at each other and nod. 

Time to change the music.


End file.
